View Down The Scope
by Laeta
Summary: [HoratioCalleigh] Spoiler Kill Zone, Body Count. He always considered this the still before the storm, before humanity’s worst were to be found and judged, before the deliverance of bad news.
1. The Hostage Exchange

Disclaimer: _CSI: Miami_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway, as always. For b8kworm and SunMee. kdeb, you wacko; you spawned this thing, so you take some of the heat. Thanks for the read through. Marianne, what can I say? Oh, and kudos to whoever gets my reference in Spoiler(s).

Summary: He always considered this the still before the storm, before humanity's worst were to be found and judged, before the deliverance to bad news.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Evidence of Things Unseen, Lonely Road, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): H/C

Spoiler(s): I've renamed the two constellations to Kill Zone major and Body Count minor.

Responds to the Kill Zone challenge on the H/C mailing list: a one part H/C fic that in some way, shape or form, references Kill Zone.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: View Down The Scope

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

  


Chapter 1: The Hostage Exchange

There was a three block evacuation from 1023 Catalonia Avenue where, currently, a former Miami-Dade Police Department member was holding six individuals hostage. He was too good not to know the armed team outside his doors would snake cameras and microphones through crevices. The team realized the hostage taker was cocky, arrogant; he purposely chose to discontinue all audio feedback. All they had was his self-satisfied mug shot as he arranged his hostages around the sole camera left.

Visual surveillance showed the man was armed with a rifle, apparently unregistered to his name. Ample ammunition could be seen in the grainy backdrop of the dimly lit room. No air conditioner; all seven cloistered individuals had sheens of perspiration moistening clothes to their bodies.

The phone line was tapped, and the negotiator commanded the scene. A very well-rehearsed, oiled scene, the team settled in to wait.

  


Per the usual, Horatio was clocked in by seven thirty; well versed with Miami's mood in high summer, he preferred his morning commute to take place during relatively cooler and quieter air. He made a routine of it, settled with the morning newspaper and fresh coffee, breakfast was long finished.

The halls were quiet, equipment humming gently to itself as the night shift slowly, one by one, handed in their time sheets and left for home. He always considered this the still before the storm, before humanity's worst were to be found and judged, before the deliverance to bad news.

Then everything went haywire.

  


The Hummer stopped its seventy-five miles per hour speed instantaneously and its passenger was out before the driver had the engine off. Heat waves from the sun's rays reflected off the pavement and obscured the perfect clarity of the early morning light.

Horatio almost could convince himself that the unfolding event was simply a mirage. A luxurious creation of the high temperature upon the gathered unsuspecting minds. He almost could believe that an officer, one he knew quite well, would be simply sitting at his desk, in his air conditioned office, and nowhere near this back street.

He stayed back as the negotiator waved Calleigh over to a spot concealed from the house's main view. Everybody knew the key to successfully resolving a hostage situation was to give the man what he wanted without giving him anything. Right now, he was demanding to see Calleigh, and the negotiator wanted to know why.

A concise conversation, Calleigh nodded at the finish and strode to a van parked about half a block away. The negotiator looked at Horatio before walking over to where he remained by the Hummer.

"Horatio, good to see you. I didn't expect you to be here."

Horatio nodded, showing a terse smile for the benefit of a friend well met regardless of the circumstances. "You want one of my CSIs, Aaron, you deal with me, too."

Aaron grinned and put his hand out for a shake. Civilities over with, they stood side-by-side, two soldiers squaring off against the man inside the house.

"So, I take it you know John Hagen, too?"

"I sure do. Give me a rundown, will you?"

Aaron led the way to his temporary command center, near where he had spoken with Calleigh, and they bent over what information was available. It was clear in the way they discussed the situation that there was history between the two men.

Polar opposites, Aaron's only similarity with Horatio was height. Where Horatio had a dangerous aura about him, Aaron was approachable and had a ready smile. Both well-liked by their colleagues and natural leaders, it was an easy bet on who gave the order and who made the order.

During Horatio's years on the bomb squad, his team joined Aaron's a number of time on volatile scenes like this one. So many times, a hostage taker would manufacture a bomb as a last resort, to be used after Aaron had talked him/her into releasing his captives. When the scene was clear and, the hostage taker cuffed, they would discover sometimes that s/he had triggered the bomb and it was a fight against another sort of clock.

There were many memories of nights and days where they played the waiting game over coffee. Even after Horatio left the bomb squad, they touched based with each other; he only made it through Al's death with Aaron's silent companionship. Aaron had taken it as his duty to get Horatio mindlessly drunk for one night only, and then spent the next three barring any attempt of alcohol consumption. It was a role with which Horatio was well acquainted.

He glanced up in time to see Calleigh walking towards them, in a wardrobe change. Aaron easily restrained him from reacting first and asking questions later.

Voice like venom, Horatio turned to his friend. "Aaron. What's going on? Why is Calleigh wearing Kevlar?"

All Calleigh had to do was stop at Horatio's side and the hostility flipped to warm reception. She was not fooled though and took it upon herself to diffuse some of his ire away from Aaron.

"John's asked to see me. I'm going to go in, make sure the hostages are all right, and come right back here. Piece of cake."

Aaron kept his hold on Horatio when Calleigh turned and walked to the fortified house. Immediately when the door shut behind her, they sprinted for the surveillance van and glued their eyes to the screen. Audio cackled and popped and Hagen's sneer came loud and clear.

Horatio relaxed slightly the moment Calleigh's form granulated the left-hand side of the monitor. He watched intently for any nuance that would indicate trouble. All he saw were fires of lit contempt; it reassured him only an iota. He did not breathe easily until she walked straight out of the house and into the van where they could disseminate her information in private.

Their plan of action tortured him. Why he ever agreed to it he would never know, and he never wanted to explore that small vacation from reality he took while he agreed. He was not ready to discover what secret he hid from even himself.

Aaron called Hagen to confirm the exchange - Calleigh for the six innocent bystanders of Hagen's dive off the deep end. Then, as soon as the hostages were safe and being taken care of, the team would breach the house; Calleigh, as an officer of justice, would and could take care of herself. All she had to do was try to: a, distract Hagen from using the rifle or b, force him to surrender peacefully.

Once again, Calleigh left the men to suit into a different sort of attire. She would keep the wire as backup, in case the situation spiraled out of hand; nobody was willing to risk her life for any reason. She needed to find some way to conceal a weapon on her body so she was not completely helpless.

Aaron was impervious to the blackness of Horatio's mood; he had seen worse over the years. Just as he knew that, he knew Horatio needed something to do, anything to focus him, to keep his mind off of the what-ifs. He had just the job for him.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 08.Nov.2003


	2. EMPAD

Disclaimer: _CSI: Miami_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway, as always. For b8kworm and SunMee. kdeb, you wacko; you spawned this thing, so you take some of the heat. Thanks for the read through. Marianne, what can I say? Oh, and kudos to whoever gets my reference in Spoiler(s).

Summary: He always considered this the still before the storm, before humanity's worst were to be found and judged, before the deliverance to bad news.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Evidence of Things Unseen, Lonely Road, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): H/C

Spoiler(s): I've renamed the two constellations to Kill Zone major and Body Count minor.

Responds to the Kill Zone challenge on the H/C mailing list: a one part H/C fic that in some way, shape or form, references Kill Zone.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: View Down The Scope

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

  


Chapter 2: EMPAD

Over a year ago, after the sniper, Christopher Harwood, reigned in a three day terror rage, the Miami-Dade Police Department swore never again. They combed through each personnel file, across all the departments, looking for talent. What they came up with was an elite group of police officers with abilities to parallel that of even a Marine sniper, but who knew the lay of the land. They lived and worked in Miami; they would protect it with their lives.

Fifteen individuals made up this group called EMPAD, the Elite Miami Police Armed Division, and their purpose was to become the militia of the twenty-first century. Snipers, terrorists, gangsters made their plays in secret; then so would they. They trained in secret, honing already considerable skills to the best of their abilities, at all hours of the day. The call for a scenario would come at evening rush hour, midnight, dawn, and rarely, three o'clock in the afternoon.

Department superiors across the board knew of EMPAD, but the public did not. It would make all the members of the group prime assassination targets, and each person swore a private oath to protect the others. After all, they were the only ones who knew their code of objective, duty, and responsibility.

They sought Horatio, finding his dossier and including him immediately. Horatio had an amazing record, as a police officer on the street, as a part of the bomb team, and, of course, as a criminalist. Brains and a shooting eye to die for, they worked him hard to convince him of the need-to-know secrecy. Eventually, Horatio went over to their side, joining the group as a unique sharpshooter. He never missed his target, ever.

After a few months of training, it came as a surprise to nobody but Horatio that his specialty was moving objects. They had yet to find a limit of target size. There were only so many empty soda cans for practice.

One of the group members rigged a tennis ball server to take soda cans, and they arched it into the sky one weekend. Horatio cuddled his weapon and hit every one of them. Later, they rigged a field with a number of the altered machines, gave Horatio hideout and let him go. He only missed ten targets that day.

Then they changed things up a bit, giving him night practice and affixing a night vision lens to his scope. Admittedly they were excellent challenges to Horatio, but he paid for the time at work and slipped off his game for a while. Like a chameleon adapts, he soon craved the mindless challenge the practices offered; an escape from the chaos of murder and mayhem each member strove to contain with their shields.

He experimented with weapons, too. Having always preferred his nine millimeter, he did not like the bulkiness of the other guns. He also avoided the rifle like the plague; it reminded him too much of Calleigh and the teasing lilt of her voice. Horatio did not even want to begin to think of the distraction it would bring him.

Eventually, though, he had to try the rifle, and it never let him go. Every time he settled with one, he said a quick prayer in Calleigh's name for no reason other than the fact he died a little every time he pulled the trigger. The prayer buffeted him a little, keeping his sanity intact when he returned from the zone he entered.

In so many ways, it was this experience he wanted when he and Calleigh went to the shooting range in the first place during the sniper situation. He wanted to step inside of a sniper's shoes and mind; he wanted to know what s/he thought as s/he gazed down the scope of the weapon of choice. Now, he had received more than he could handle.

During that time when Horatio was acclimating to both the rifle and the night sessions, he had a particularly uncharacteristic training exercise. He missed so many targets and could not settle down. At the end, for the first time in Horatio's life, he experienced the complete acceptance of a group; the other EMPAD members convened on his house and simply listened.

It was Aaron who led the instigation and eventually drew out the Hank Kerner situation - and Calleigh. Following his lead, the group neither judged nor offered advice; it was an odd bonding moment for sure, especially for a man like Horatio. Confiding was never a strong suit.

This evolved into one of the more unusual aspects of EMPAD; they all reported to a particular council, but they never decided on a key decision maker. Rather, they flowed in the oddest ranking system ever by taking point in whatever situation was the most familiar. For example, right now, Aaron and Horatio were in the throes of a hostage situation; it was Aaron's mode of living so he called the shots. As soon as the hostage part resolved itself, if there was a bomb, he would deflect to Horatio.

Even now, Horatio could see the other EMPAD members of the force out in the crowd, lending their silent support. They were hidden amongst the other law enforcement officers who watched the scene unfold.

He took some measure of comfort in the anonymous encouragement that he and Aaron had. Simply by being there, EMPAD promised they would be together through anything; they had already lost one member, they were not about to lose another one. Or two.

Aaron nonchalantly slipped a sheet of paper to Horatio; the header was from the EMPAD council. In summary, the memo said there was no other time than now to let the public know EMPAD existed. The team's van with tailored equipment would be arriving momentarily, and he would suit up and take his position.

A nonexistent signal brought the rest of the team out from the crowd. They crossed the scene barriers by a subtle show of identification as the van arrived on the scene. Within seconds, Horatio was surrounded by the team who all wanted the same thing - backup for Calleigh. No one should ever have to go anywhere without it.

Horatio's backup was the rifle he detested and needed. No other weapon fit his hands more solidly, and no other weapon worked as well with him. The prerequisite three feet long, it was also a technological marvel in ways only known to Horatio, EMPAD, and the rifle's maker. The maker would take the secret to the grave, if need be.

Before Calleigh was back amongst the others to receive last minute instructions from Aaron, Horatio was gone, hidden in a vantage point looking straight into the main room of the house. SWAT was nearby, ready to move on any mark from Calleigh, but Horatio was faster. Two teams feeding off the other, SWAT and EMPAD, both with their own strengths, they were formidable together.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 09.Nov.2003


	3. Nine Lives

Disclaimer: _CSI: Miami_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway, as always. For b8kworm and SunMee. kdeb, you wacko; you spawned this thing, so you take some of the heat. Thanks for the read through. Marianne, what can I say? Oh, and kudos to whoever gets my reference in Spoiler(s).

Summary: He always considered this the still before the storm, before humanity's worst were to be found and judged, before the deliverance to bad news.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Evidence of Things Unseen, Lonely Road, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): H/C

Spoiler(s): I've renamed the two constellations to Kill Zone major and Body Count minor.

Responds to the Kill Zone challenge on the H/C mailing list: a one part H/C fic that in some way, shape or form, references Kill Zone.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: View Down The Scope

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

  


Chapter 3: Nine Lives (Or Only Seven?)

The camera crews were having a field day, not only because Hagen was an officer, but because they assumed public outrage at the secrecy surrounding EMPAD. Yet, Calleigh could care less. What irked her was not that he kept his participation a secret, it was that he was nowhere around the scene. She wished she could have had at least a few words from him - encouragement, reproach, pride, anything.

Horatio was not twenty yards from her, and he saw her down the length of his scope. He missed Carla then, his partner in crime within EMPAD. Normally, she would have been beside him, ready with ammunition and with the other aspect of Horatio's job. The scope had the unusual feature of being attached to a camera, which had a better resolution than any typical security device.

If he wanted to, in the picture he could take of Calleigh right now, he could count each and every eyelash and the strands of her hair. Instead, he focused on his ammunition; Carla was not here now and he did not have the presence of mind to divide his concentration between taking the images and being ready to shoot.

Suddenly, Aaron was there. Before Horatio could do anything, he had an image of Calleigh stilled on the monitor. Horatio turned his head towards it when Aaron poked his shoulder.

"Just to remind you who you're supposed to keep safe."

Back looking down the length of the scope, he whispered his prayer and followed Calleigh as she nodded her understanding of her instructions and walked backed into the house. To Horatio though, it felt like he was running out of lives.

  


He died a little when he received news of his father's death. For a boy who idolized his father, he never exactly recovered.

He died a little more when he found his mother, lying in eternal rest. That shaped the rest of his life into an ongoing vendetta against the cold blooded killer.

He rebounded fairly quickly after the devastation the law called his marriage. It left its mark though; once bitten, twice shy. It was why he now watched Calleigh from the separation of a cold piece of metal.

Then, there was Ray, the ghost who still lived. He haunted Horatio, confused him between the dictates of duty and desire.

He died again when Al's funeral was imminent. He tried to think it was just another funeral, just an ordinary day in the life of Horatio Caine. Aaron knew only too well how far from truth that was.

Carla was next. One of Miami Dade's most talented, up-and-coming uniformed officers, she was her neighborhood's pride and joy. The epitome of hard work and dedication, she made a name for herself, and that was why EMPAD snatched her up. They gave her the chance to use the innate intellect unique to an engineer; she was the one who altered those tennis ball servers to take soda cans. She gave her life in the sole way she wanted - for her city; she was the first officer on the scene of a burning house. Courage and bravery were the basic tools she had, and she saved every person in that house only to suffer as her lungs collapsed from smoke inhalation.

And somewhere along the line, Horatio vowed to never let himself care. Ever again. Not even for Calleigh.

It did not work. With every step she took, he died again and again. He did not care if they say cats have nine lives; he had already used six and did not want to know what lay beyond this seventh. As far as he was concerned, there was no life beyond Calleigh.

He crossed that fine line between love and hate. He never hated Calleigh more for making him care, for being alive so he could fall in love with her.

  


Back in the world of the hostage situation, Aaron fiddled noiselessly with the audio until Hagen and Calleigh's voices flowed quietly as background noise. So far, everything was under control; Calleigh was, as her typical self, calm and in control. She executed a clean exchange, and the hostages were safe if not a little bruised along the edges.

Horatio knew that she was repeating to herself, over and over, "I'm not alone. I'm safe; they wouldn't leave me in here alone." He knew because he was saying the same thing.

Aaron watched the screen, seeing exactly what Horatio saw. They saw the face-off between the bulky man and Calleigh. Horatio clenched the rifle tighter, willing it to give Calleigh some of its strength.

He would have nightmares for months on what followed.

Hagen snapped; the pressure that spurred the initial situation and drove him to this point vacated him. All that was left was the insecurity of a formerly good detective. Hagen hoisted the rifle and aimed it right at Calleigh.

For ages, like a photograph, they stayed that way. Calleigh looked down the barrel of the rifle; Hagen held it to her heart. Horatio trained a deadly gaze on Hagen; Aaron communicated furiously through the walkie-talkie. SWAT crouched in their breach positions; EMPAD held their breaths. The public awaited Calleigh's exit from the house.

Horatio fingered the trigger gently. Brushed his finger back and forth over the curved metal, waiting for a signal from just about anybody. All the while, his body and soul burned to ashes.

It all ended as spontaneously as it began. Quick as a flash, Calleigh reached for the rifle, and SWAT poured into the house. She wrenched it from Hagen's waning grasp and had it aimed at Hagen's heart. Not a single bullet expended, not a single life lost; overall, a successful take down.

He continued to look through the scope. Hagen handcuffed and sputtering mad, the scope separated him from reality. He could almost believe that he was at home or at the lab still and watched everything from the safety of a television.

Without a word, he and Aaron packed up their gear, reemerged from their hideout, and stowed everything in the van. Aaron and his subordinate negotiator held an impromptu briefing with Calleigh in the surveillance van, while Horatio did his best to ignore the camera crews and the looks just shy of accusatory they cast toward the EMPAD van. When Aaron joined them at last, members of the EMPAD council were with him. The council allowed the group to melt into the night as unobtrusively as they had emerged, and the van followed SWAT and the negotiation team back to headquarters.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 09.Nov.2003


	4. Hurting Heart

Disclaimer: _CSI: Miami_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway, as always. For b8kworm and SunMee. kdeb, you wacko; you spawned this thing, so you take some of the heat. Thanks for the read through. Marianne, what can I say? Oh, and kudos to whoever gets my reference in Spoiler(s).

Summary: He always considered this the still before the storm, before humanity's worst were to be found and judged, before the deliverance to bad news.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Evidence of Things Unseen, Lonely Road, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): H/C

Spoiler(s): I've renamed the two constellations to Kill Zone major and Body Count minor.

Responds to the Kill Zone challenge on the H/C mailing list: a one part H/C fic that in some way, shape or form, references Kill Zone.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: View Down The Scope

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

  


Chapter 4: Hurting Heart

It was Aaron who finally found Horatio later that night. Exhausted from the negotiations, Aaron still found some energy for his friend. He watched as round after round was fired into the night with no moon to guide the shots. Whatever demons Horatio was trying to demolish, this obviously did not help. He was willing to bet that Horatio was here because he did not want to face the possibility of sleep.

"You should be home, with the family, Aaron."

Aaron stretched in the grass and gazed towards whatever stars he could see through the haze from the city.

"Funny you should say that; Sheila kicked me out, said she wouldn't let me back in unless you ring the doorbell."

"She would never say anything like that."

"Yeah. Okay, so I took it on myself to find you." He glanced in Horatio's direction. "Unless you want me to call the cavalry."

He could see the idea did not appeal; Horatio always had hated the limelight.

"Then tell me what's got you out here and not at home."

Horatio returned to his target practice.

Suddenly, shapes materialized and forcibly removed the rifle from Horatio's grasp. They had him pinned to the ground; he did not fight them.

"Oops. The cavalry's already here."

It was the other members of EMPAD. How they had found them Horatio did not care to know; he would not fight them all. Aaron, on the other hand, was a favorite sparring partner.

"Okay, let's go."

They dragged a resigned Horatio to his house and practically forced some dinner down his throat. Fifteen glares does wonders to a lagging appetite, but it felt good. The relinquishment of control was refreshing. He did not have to think, did not have to plan his next step, did not have to be alone to wonder what raged within him.

He languished in that gray area between responsibility and sleep; he could have gone either way with the appropriate stimulus.

The choice was taken from him when, through the door, strode a flash of blonde brilliance. He wished he could have been ashamed of his behavior, but he was too far gone. He was too far withdrawn to understand that the EMPAD had called her and had given her a crash course into his mind.

She peered at him, questioning the logic of the other members, wondering why they allowed him to sink this low. Then they prompted her into action; she apologized beforehand and then slapped him hard across the face. They cheered her strength and hauled Horatio to his feet.

And that was all it took. He ejected each and every member out of his house - civilly or not, it did not matter as long as they were out. Then he realized it: just he and Calleigh were left.

"I'm so sorry, Horatio. They told me to."

He shook his head, completely within his own skin. Somewhat amused at the turn of circumstances, he offered Calleigh the hospitality he did not bother to offer the EMPAD members. But, where to begin?

"Horatio? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

She hesitated two seconds too long, and he knew what she was going to ask. "Where were you when I went into the house?"

"The second time?" He leaned back on the couch, counting the wooden planks lining his ceiling. "I was your backup, watching every step you took, and waiting for you to tell me if I should shoot John Hagen."

"Why you? Why not SWAT? This is what they're trained for anyway."

"Because Aaron told me to."

"That's it?" He made a mental note never to cross Calleigh's good graces.

Well, now or never. He might as well have it all out. "No, that's just the beginning."

He looked in her general direction, only wanting to read her body posture. He studiously avoided the emotions and thoughts viewable from her eyes.

"In EMPAD, my specialty is sharpshooting. Or, specifically, moving targets."

"What weapon?" she whispered.

"The rifle. It chose me; I didn't want it."

"Why?"

"It reminded me too much of you."

She let out a breath in complete surprise, but she could not allow herself to linger on the implications.

"So, there you were, in the underbrush somewhere? Lying with a rifle and watching John pull his on me?"

"In a nutshell."

"Did you have a choice to join EMPAD?"

"Not really. I gave them as good a run for their money as I could; Aaron eventually tipped me in their favor."

"Do you regret it?"

"I did today."

"John isn't six-feet tall, you know."

His gaze fell on her then. It was an odd comment, certainly, but for him, it hit with the force of gravity. She had glanced away when she said it, but she re-centered herself back on him at the sudden silence.

She grinned. "He's six-one. The inch makes all the difference." She shrugged. "Besides, I've seen him shoot targets. He misses wide about half the time."

"Calleigh, who made you come here?"

"Made? Nobody. Sheila asked me."

"Aaron's wife?"

"Yeah. I've known her for a few years. She invited me for dinner - well, because of what happened today."

Horatio was so sorry it ever had to happen. Maybe, if he had only done more, somewhere, they could have avoided it all.

"Horatio, if you're thinking what I think you are, I'm going to slap you again. This time, on my own volition."

"I'm sorry. I can't help myself."

"I know." She paused, then moved to sit next to him. "Do you want at least to know why John took those hostages?"

It was strange, this inversion of roles. For so many occasions, he was the one who comforted, and it made him feel better about his entire life. Where he had to find his own sense of comfort especially after his mother's homicide, he could hand it to a victim's family. Now, here was Calleigh, playing his accustomed role.

In the spirit of fair exchange, he offered the most honest answer he had. "No. As far as I'm concerned, he's consigned himself to the devil."

She laughed at the image of John Hagen and the devil driving each other mad for eternity. When she finally calmed down, she began to wonder at the reason for Horatio's earlier grief. She had some pretty good guesses on the cause, putting together seemingly innocent comments dropped by Sheila and Aaron, not to mention the other members of EMPAD.

"Horatio? When John pulled the rifle on me - did he hurt you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Answer it; you can't deflect anything very well from me."

"No, he didn't hurt me. Because my heart was with you the entire time."

She nodded. "Good. Because I was never scared. Not when I knew you were with me."

"Even when you didn't know where I was?"

"Especially when I don't know. Do you want to know the answer to this why?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't think I'm ready for the answer. I may not have been hurt, but it killed me to not be able to do anything."

She hugged him, tightly. "I'm sorry for making you go through that."

"I wouldn't've been anywhere else."

"How about now? Would you rather be anywhere else now?"

He shook his head, breathing in Calleigh's scent. He missed the delighted grin glowing on her face.

"Good. Well, I'm exhausted, so let's talk more tomorrow. Then, you can take me to your practice ground and show me your rifle."

"You planning on staying here tonight, Calleigh?"

"Yeah. You have to win me a bet. Besides, you're really comfortable."

"What bet?"

She shifted slowly into a more comfortable position against him, forgetting all mention of the bet. Already three-quarters to sleep, she murmured, "You have an incredible view out your window. Can we open your blinds?"

"There's no moon out."

"What does that matter? We can listen to the waves." She knew she had an unfair advantage over him, not just in general, but at this moment. She knew her joy infected him, and he would do anything to please her. Something about the day's ordeal brought it out.

So, they flicked off all the lights and opened the blinds separating the living room from the beach front. This was one of the things Calleigh loved about Horatio's house - the fact that the living room faced the back of the house and fell into Nature's own backyard. He opened the glass doors that blocked the sound but slid the screens in place to keep the mosquitoes out.

When he came back to the couch, Calleigh immediately had her arms around him, convincing him to rest against her. It took a long time, but he managed to fall asleep that night and dreamed in the sweetest way possible.

  


***** ***** *****  
© RK 09.Nov.2003


End file.
